The Whispering Woods had turned from a sanctuary into a trap. The silence was no longer peaceful; it was heavy, suffocating, and punctuated by the distant, rhythmic clicking of silver-plated boots against stone.
"They're close," Lucian whispered, his voice vibrating like a low-frequency warning through Lyra's soul. He didn't look back at the smoking ruins of the Spire. His focus was entirely on the dense thicket ahead.
Before Lyra could respond, a silver-tipped arrow hissed through the air, aimed directly for her heart. Lucian's hand moved faster than the human eye could track, his shadows erupting to catch the projectile inches from her chest. The holy salt on the arrowhead sizzled against his dark energy, smelling of ozone and burnt hair.
"Stay behind me," he commanded, his eyes bleeding into a solid, lethal violet.
The Ambush of the Sun-Guard
